No Longer There
by mickeylover303
Summary: Greg can't forgive Nick for making a promise he couldn't keep. Grave Danger tag, AU


Greg listens to faint clatter of the rain hitting the window. The pelt is sporadic, faltering like eager tapping from the outside, and he watches silently as the splotches of water slide down the glass.

I love you, he hears Nick say, hears Nick whisper softly in his ear. Low and soothing, the voice makes Greg shudder as he wraps his arms around his waist. But he shakes his head, tightly closing his eyes until the words fade away.

He shivers when he feels a brush of cold air against cheek, when he thinks of dry, cracked lips breaking the trail of moisture seeping into his skin. His eyes open slowly, half-lidded as he tries to prolong this one breath. He wants to lean into the kiss, lean into the touch, but the moment is brief, fleeting, and stings when it disappears.

Arms shaking, Greg reaches to shut the window, hands firm as he closes the small opening between the bottom sash and the sill. The sound is muted by the rain yet still loud enough to resonate off the thin walls. Biting and finite, it's stark, like the sudden flash of lightening illuminating the dark room and the sudden appearance of Nick standing behind him. But Greg doesn't reach for the reflection, doesn't reach for Nick, and instead forces his hands to his sides.

But he feels the pull, anyway, feels the harsh tugs on his clothes and the fingers pressing firmly into his torso as he's taken into unfamiliar arms. And Greg can't fight the choked noise that escapes him, when his legs become numb and he falls to his knees.

Frantically, he grabs the hem of his shirt, rubbing his palms against the soft material in an effort to wipe it away, get rid of the dirt that he's covered in.

It's on his hands, itchy between his fingers, and buried too deeply beneath his nails. Running along the length of his arms, falling into his shirt and slipping down his back, he can still taste it in his mouth. It smells like soap, like the lemon and sage one Nick uses, but Greg still can't get the dirt to come off.

His hands move to the floor, skin chafing and burning against the friction as Greg spreads the stain. He clutches at the short fibres of the carpet, pulling and grabbing at nothing until he's out of breath, left hunched over and panting.

Forcing himself not to turn around, Greg lowers his head, ignoring the hair that falls into his face. There's a burning in his eyes, sharp and heavy like the lump in the back of his throat. Nick is quiet behind him, painfully still, and Greg bites his bottom lip, pressing his teeth harder into the skin when he begins to tremble.

I love you, he hears again, but the words are strained and mangled now and the voice sounds broken in Greg's ears.

Forever, the voice continues, accusing and harsh like the crack of thunder that almost drowns it.

Greg feels himself rocking slowly, body moving back and forth on its accord. He presses his knuckles into the carpet, but the shaking doesn't stop, won't stop even when he hears the voice again.

I love you, he hears himself say, but this time Greg manages a smile. He licks his lips, swallowing the taste of salt in his mouth and continues to pretend the voice is not his own.

* * *

_The original challenge was to write something trippy that involved Greg having a breakdown, without going into dramatics. But oh, lo and behold, I'm here scratching my head in confusion. This is another old fic I'm just posting, but I can't help but wonder: what was I thinking? Where was I going with this? I was listening to one song from Amel Bent (love her), which inspired...something, then that transformed into something else because I was listening to another song by her instead--I don't know. I can't claim I know how my mind works.  
_

_But this fic is one of those things, that in retrospect, makes me want to tuck it away in a pocket dimension. Nearly four years after getting into CSI, I still can't force myself to watch Grave Danger, and I guess this is just another one of this tag fics I still write despite that. Okay, I'm making stuff up now. It's definitely different, past the point of obscurity and being out of character, and definitely something I'm not doing again. Bleh.  
_


End file.
